An Interesting Year
by Woland666
Summary: Christine is a junior in high school. She is intelligent and does not have chocolate curls. Things happen. I am not even going to say that I'm bad at summaries, because it's pretty obvious.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Diary/Imaginary Friend,

Today was my first day as a junior in high school, and I must say it went pretty well. To tell you the truth, I was kind of anxious to go back to school, even though I know I will be feeling the exact opposite by the end of the month.

I was happy to see my friend Meg again, because over the summer I only got to talk to my family, and even though I love them dearly, they have a tendency to get on my nerves when it's too hot. Meg is slightly shorter than me and has dark brown hair and brown eyes that usually sparkle with mischieviousness. She is more extroverted than I am, but at least as smart, though in a different way, and she is very funny. When I first saw her today, she greeted me with a mock expression of horror on her face and pretended to run away, causing me to wack her on the head with one of my textbooks. We have three classes together this year, and lunch.

Talking of classes, I'm pretty happy with mine this year. I'm taking world literature, music theory, choir, AB calculus, chemistry, 20th-century European history, Spanish, and art. I am _so _happy to be taking European history after a full year of studying U.S. history.

My teachers are all pretty great, too.

I have the same choir director as last year, Mr. Salbury, whom I absolutely adore. He's a portly man in his mid-fifties, and is absolutely hilarious.

My Spanish teacher seems crazy but likable, just like the one I had last year. My math teacher is the nice awkward kind, and I think I remember seeing him wear gym shoes with a dress shirt and slacks last year (typical of math teachers in my school). My chemistry teacher seems raving mad in an entertaining sort of way, and my history teacher seems the kind to go way off topic in the middle of class. My English teacher's face is a mask of irony, and my music theory teacher, Mr. Destler, wears an actual mask.

It covers all of his face, and it's flesh colored, so that when you first walk into the room without paying attention you don't notice it. It gave me a jump when I first took a good look at it. I mean, this guy _lives_ in Uncanny Valley. But I don't mean to be unkind, since he probably has some kind of deformity. He is also very tall and thin, and dresses very neatly. He seems very strict, not at all friendly, and even with a normal face he would be terrifying, especially since his voice is simultaneously the nicest and spookiest I've ever heard. A simple "good morning" was all it took for him to shut up the whole class, even though we're usually a noisy lot, and we were all sitting on the edge of our seats for the rest of the class. Good thing I love music theory, or this year might not be so pleasant.

I realize I didn't say much about myself.

My name is Christine Daaé, I am sixteen going on seventeen, and I am an introvert persecuted by her Superego.

I am tall, thin, and I have blue eyes and light brown hair. I look okay.

I love to sing and play the piano, and I mainly listen to classical music.

My favorite composers are Bach, Ravel, Schubert, Mahler, and Fauré. I also like Beethoven and Wagner. My favorite singer is Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.

With a taste in music like mine, you wouldn't expect me to have lots of friends (or any friends), but strangely enough, I do.

I have a celebrity crush on Benedict Cumberbatch and a real life crush on Raoul de Chagny, who is too handsome for his own good and also (miraculously) has a good personality.

I live in a relatively large apartment with my dad (my mom passed away years ago), and I don't have any pets.

I know that this first entry is much too short and factual to be of any interest to anyone, but I promise you that I will get more interesting as time goes on, and facts _are_ important.


	2. Chapter 2

**I am aware of how terribly short and sketchy this is, so any constructive criticism would be most welcome. (This is my first time writing fanfiction)**

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

I wish I were a little less self-conscious. Today, I saw Raoul in the hallway and said "hello" in such a tiny voice that there was no way he could possibly hear me - and he didn't, so I proceeded to walk away as discreetly as I could, blushing profusely.

In choir, Mr. Salbury told us who would be singing what voice part, and I ended up being a Soprano I as usual.

I love and hate being a soprano: I love singing the melody line, but the sight reading isn't nearly as challenging as it is for the altos, and almost every soprano in my choir is extremely narcissistic. We are a good choir, but one of our problems is that in the forte sections the sopranos are all trying to sing louder than their neighbors, making some people's voices go sharp.

When it comes to singing, my major problem is that I can't sing loud enough because of my lack of support. I wish my dad would get me voice lessons, but he says that I need to get all A's first, which is never going to happen, because all the seniors say that Mrs. Hall (my English teacher) always takes off points on every assignment, even if it is thoughtful and complete, because "it could always be better", making it impossible to get anything higher than a B in her class.

My music theory teacher is very formal.

It used to be that the only teacher in the school that would call me "Ms. Daaé" was my gym teacher, but Mr. Destler does that too. He gives off a vibe similar to that of Professor Snape in the movies.

Today, we had to do a melodic dictation, which was anything but easy. We only got to hear the piece three times before Mr. Destler stated that he was sure that we'd all had enough time to finish transcribing it, and asked us to turn in our papers.

At the end of class, I was walking towards the door when he called me: "Ms. Daaé! May I have a word?" I reluctantly turned around and walked up to him. "Yes?" "I was wondering if you could show me where your old teacher kept his files." "Files?" "I mean his sheet music." "Oh. He kept it on one of the shelves in the music office, I think. Room 213, second floor." "Thank you." I left quickly after this, as his stare was making me uncomfortable.

I've noticed that people who have poor social skills either make no eye contact, or too much, and Mr. Destler falls into the second category.

After school, I walked home in the rain. I like the rain when I have an umbrella, and I had mine, so the walk was very pleasant. I find that the air in the fall is even more fragrant than in the spring, and it gets me to breathe more fully than anything Mr. Salbury can say about my diaphragm.

I had the time to sing "September in the rain" a good twenty times before I got home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to Christine Stein for my first review! :)**

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

I talked to Raoul today!

I was getting my math textbook from my locker when someone lightly tapped my shoulder. I turned around, expecting it to be Meg, and there he was, his eyes as blue as ever, and his face much too close for me to be able to think coherently.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I answered, my voice a faint squeak.

"Do you already have a partner for the chemistry project?"

"No."

"Well, now you do! That is, if you don't mind working with me?"

"No, no. Great! I mean, sure, I'll be your partner... I mean,..."

"Wonderful! See you fifth period!"

He grinned at me, then walked away, leaving me blushing and trying to calm down my now-erratic heart beat.

I shouldn't get too excited though ; he probably only asked me because of my excellent grade in chemistry, not because of _me_. Oh well! I'm still deliriously happy!

Also, today, in music theory class, some really stupid people were passing notes.

Somewhere in the middle of the class I got a really long one from Jeremy, who sits behind me, and it was all about Mr. Destler: speculations on what lay beneath his mask, comments on how creepy he was, and complaints about his meanness. I could make out several people's handwritings.

Now, I'm not especially fond of Mr. Destler: he's a harsh grader, and not nice at all. But it still made me angry that people could be so mean, and the horrible grammar just made things worse, so I wrote: "You remember what Thumper said in 'Bambi'? 'If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all.' In other words, stop this and pay attention if you don't want to fail the class!" I gave the note to Jeremy, who read it then started writing away furiously. He was trying to give me his reply when Mr. Destler exclaimed "Mr. Hunter!" in his scariest voice.

"Yes sir?"

"Give me that paper."

"I-I don't understand... What paper?"

"The paper you'll give me if you want to avoid five hours of detention."

"Oh, _that _paper..."

Jeremy held up the note with a shaking hand, and Mr. Destler snatched it. At least ten other people in the class were as nervous as Jeremy was by that point. I remembered that I was the only person in the grade that still wrote using cursive, and I felt vaguely embarrassed at defending Mr. Destler, though I'm not sure why.

He quickly scanned the note, the mask hiding his expression, then looked up.

"Hunter, Jones, Williams, Hays, and Harris - detention."

He gave me a brief look before continuing.

"The next person I catch passing notes in this class will get something much worse than detention."

I swear the temperature in the class dropped by a few degrees as he said this, so chilling was his voice.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

Something strange and wonderful happened today.

I was leaving my last class when I realized that I didn't have my umbrella. I went back into the class to try to find it, but then I realized that I must have left it under my chair in my music theory class.

I ran, hoping that Mr. Destler hadn't locked the room yet. Walking in the rain _without_ an umbrella is not so great, and it was pouring outside - one of those downpours that make the word "torrential" sound like an understatement. When I got to the classroom, I was a bit worried by the fact that the lights were off, but I tried to open the door anyway. To my surprise and relief, it wasn't locked.

I walked in, and there wasn't anyone there. I quickly spotted my umbrella, which is bright green, and picked it up. I was about to leave when I saw the piano. A thing you have to know about me, is that I feel the same way about pianos as most people feel about chocolate. When the average person sees chocolate, they just _have_ to have some - regardless of the fact that it's bad for their cholesterol, or that they just brushed their teeth, or that chocolate makes them break out really badly and that they have a date tomorrow. When I see a piano, I just _have_ to play it - regardless of the fact that I _will_ make a complete fool of myself, or that I'm not allowed to play it, or that the neighbors are sleeping. The sad thing is, I'm not even good at playing the piano - I'm barely decent.

So, anyway, I silently crept towards the instrument, feeling kind of silly but still irresistibly drawn to it. I sat down, adjusted the seat, tried the pedal, and began to play. For some reason, my fingers had decided that they were going to play "Ombra mai fu". After a few bars, they stopped - I breathed in, and began to sing.

Eventually, the song came to end. The last note wafted away like smoke, and echoed deeply into the silence.

"_Good job._"

I jumped to my feet, and simultaneously almost had a heart attack.

I turned around, and saw Mr. Destler standing there. His arms were crossed, and he was reclining against the wall. I hadn't heard him come in, but then I _had_ been thinking earlier this week about how his shoes had to be padded with velvet for him to make so little noise when walking across the old creaking boards of the classroom.

"I-I'm sorry," I stuttered.

"No, no. There is nothing to be sorry about."

"I thought the room was empty and - ..."

"It was, until I walked in. Now, would you mind singing that last phrase again?"

"Excuse me?"

"Would you mind singing that last phrase again?"

"Oh, but I - ..."

"I'm not asking you to sing. I'm telling you to. Now, be a good girl and sing."

I had no choice but to oblige.

When I was done, he said: "You have a lovely voice, but your singing lacks support."

"I know."

"You don't have a voice teacher?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

"Of course."

"It's all settled then. Your classes start tomorrow after 9th."

"But - "

"Don't worry about paying me, you'll be doing _me_ a service by letting me teach you. I couldn't bear the thought of all that talent going to waste."

"But -"

"Tomorrow, after 9th, in this room. Don't be late."

He left the room too fast for me to ask him any other questions.

When I got home, I told my dad I would be staying after school for tutoring. I don't know whether to be happy or scared. Right now, I'm both.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dearest Diary,

I had my first voice lesson with Mr. Destler today.

I have to admit that as I was leaving my 9th period, I seriously considered not going. But then I realized how rude it would be not to show up, so I began walking very slowly towards the music theory classroom. I was deliberately dragging my feet, and the little voice in my head kept sing-songing a nursery rhyme which goes like this: "Slowly, slowly, _very_ slowly creeps the garden snail..." Despite all of my efforts to walk as haltingly as possible, I eventually got to the classroom. I took a deep breath, and walked in.

Mr. Destler was sitting at the piano, scribbling something into a big notebook. He looked up as I came in.

"Miss Daaé. I wasn't sure you'd come."

I wanted to reply that I hadn't been so sure either, but decided against it.

"Well, I do want to improve as a singer."

"That's right. Now, please have a seat. You are a soprano?"

"Yes. Or, at least, I think I am. Am I?"

"It certainly sounded like it yesterday, even though the aria you were singing is an alto aria, and your voice is still maturing. Tell me, what experience have you had with singing?"

"Apart from choir? None."

"Do you mean to say that you learn classical arias for fun?"

"I guess so..."

"That's good, very good. Now, let's get started."

For about an hour, he made me do a bunch of exercises that sounded a lot like the warm-ups we do in choir. The staccato exercises he says are supposed to help me build support. I was a bit self-conscious at first, especially since Mr. Destler does have an unnerving tendency to stare, but I grew more confident as the hour went by. He certainly does play the piano beautifully. After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Destler declared that we were done for the day.

"I'll have a couple of songs picked out for you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Why yes. From now on, we are going to meet every day after school, until you graduate. Is there an issue?"

"No, but... Isn't that a lot? And, you know, well, there's this thing called homework."

"I'm sure you'll still find some time for that."

"What about my social life?"

"You have a social life?"

"_Yes_."

"Well, that's too bad."

I left, my feelings towards Mr. Destler a mixture of gratitude and annoyance. I was, however, extremely happy at finally having a voice teacher.

I was going to tell Meg about my lessons this morning, but then I figured that she wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut, and I really don't want everybody to know. They might find our little arrangement strange - suspicious, even. I know I shouldn't care what people think, but the sad reality is that I do, and that there is very little I can do about it. When I told my dad I was staying after school for tutoring, I'm pretty sure he assumed that I meant chemistry tutoring, with a _female_ instructor. I don't think he would be too keen on the idea of me spending an hour alone with a man, let alone a masked one. It 's true that his mask makes Mr. Destler look a bit like a serial killer from a slasher movie, which isn't altogether a good thing.

But all this doesn't matter, now does it? No. Not when I'm on my way to becoming the greatest Tosca in operatic history!


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! :)**

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

I am now comfortably settled into my new routine. I've been going to my voice lessons for a week now, and I already feel like I'm progressing! Mr. Destler is really an amazing teacher, and his high expectations are forcing me to work really hard to live up to them.

I was a bit worried at first about not being able to keep up with homework, but I quickly discovered that if I make a real effort to not procrastinate, homework only takes about one hour every day.

I was also worried about my dad saying something about my staying after school every day, but for once I am glad for his lack of interest in my life.

Today's lesson went very well, except for the fact that Mr. Destler decided that I was going to learn "Bel piacere", a rather dull aria by Handel that I am not especially fond of (to say the least). I usually love Handel, but this piece doesn't seem to have _any_ dramatic potential.

"Mr. Destler, I'm sure this aria is great, but, for some mysterious reason, I don't seem to be able to appreciate it."

"You don't have to. Think of it as a technical exercise. I promise you that you'll get to sing more interesting pieces as you become more advanced."

"And... when will that be?"

"Soon enough. Now, back to measure thirty-five."

I've tried to make small talk with him multiple times over the past couple of days, but with no success. He always keeps the conversation on my voice and how to improve it, and never deviates from that topic. I am starting to wonder if he is even human. His behavior is very Mr. Spock-ish, and while I love Mr. Spock to death, I do find it a little off-putting at times.

Towards the end of the class, he asked me for my number.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked you to give me your number."

"Sure, but what for?"

"So I can contact you when I need to."

"Oh."

I wanted to ask him why he would ever need to contact me, but I didn't want to sound like I was questioning his motives.

He gave me his phone so that I could enter my number into his contacts, and I was a little surprised to see that he only had three other people listed.

Before I left, he mentioned the possibility of us singing a duet sometime in the near future. I am very impatient to hear him sing - his speaking voice is too beautiful for his singing voice to be anything less than perfect.

I also got to spend some time with Raoul today, because of our chemistry project. We worked on it in the library during our lunch period. Since we couldn't talk very loud because of the librarian, we were whispering, and let me tell you there is nothing more wonderful than having Raoul de Chagny whisper into your ear, even if he is only talking about balancing equations. I'd never have thought that chemistry could be so enjoyable!

He told me a joke, which goes like this: there's this family, and they're visting an old Scottish castle. It's all gloomy and creepy and gothic. Suddenly, the mother asks the tour guide: "Isn't this castle supposed to be haunted?" to which he answers: "No, ma'am. I've never seen a single ghost in the five hundred years I've been living here." I think that that would make for a good Twilight Zone episode, don't you?

When the period was over, he walked me to my next class and even carried my backpack, which, for a tiny moment, made me feel like he was my boyfriend. I could see some girls staring in envy as we walked down the hallway, but Raoul seemed completely oblivious.

When I told Meg about working with him, she started elbowing me rather roughly, and saying things like "You go, girl!" much too loud for my taste. In fact, she was being so loud that some people actually turned around to see what was going on, causing me to become even more embarassed.

Good thing I didn't tell her about my lessons with Mr. Destler!


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

I'm in trouble.

I was going to my 9th period when Raoul walked up to me, and asked: "Wanna go get some frozen yogurt after class?"

I was so happy that he would want to hang out with me that I answered without thinking: "Yeah, sure!"

It's only a couple of seconds after he was gone that I remembered about my lesson with Mr. Destler.

I never for a moment considered _not_ going with Raoul, so I began to think about how to tell Mr. Destler that I couldn't have class today. I decided I would go tell him immediately after the bell, and _then_ meet up with Raoul.

That was not to be.

When I walked out of the classroom, Raoul was there, waiting for me, a grin on his face.

"Are you ready to go?"

I knew I couldn't take him with me to cancel my class because he wouldn't understand. I knew I couldn't tell him to wait for me while I went alone, as I didn't want to have to tell him why, and Mr. Destler's classroom is at the other end of the building and going there and back would take a good ten minutes. I also knew I couldn't _not_ tell Mr. Destler that I would be missing his class, but my panicked mind chose to ignore that last fact. So I simply answered:

"Yes."

As we walked, I tried to make myself feel less guilty by reasoning that Mr. Destler would probably figure out that I wasn't coming pretty fast and not wait for me for a full hour, and by preparing my apology for the next day. Despite this, I still felt awful, my Superego nagging me to the point of making me feel physically sick. I also didn't like the idea of sitting through music theory class the next day without having explained myself.

However, Raoul's smile was so warm and his conversation so engaging that I soon began to feel a little better. I decided to enjoy the moment and to forget about the consequences until I got home. We talked about everything and nothing until we eventually got to the frozen yogurt place.

Apparently, Raoul and I have the same tastes when it comes to frozen yogurt, and we both got the same flavors and toppings. We sat down next to a window. I was about to eat my first spoonful when my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"_Where are you?_"

It was Mr. Destler. I panicked.

"I-I... I'm sorry... I was going to - ..."

"_I asked you a question._"

"Oh... I'm at a frozen yogurt place."

I suddenly felt very stupid.

"_With whom?_"

"With my friend Raoul."

There was a silence at the other end. After a few seconds, he said in an alarmingly quiet voice:

"A _boy_?"

"Why, yes. 'Raoul' _is_ a guy name."

"_Come back to school right now!_"

Now he was being a bit unreasonable. I could see Raoul eyeing me with a worried expression, and there was no way I could just leave him there just because Mr. Destler told me to. I rolled my eyes and mouthed "my dad", after which he looked a little less worried.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"_Listen, if you don't -..._"

I hung up on him.

The rest of my outing (almost date!) with Raoul went very well. He walked me home, and, as we were parting, kissed me on the cheek, which is the reason I am still feeling giddy right now.

That is, when I'm not too busy being terrified.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

Mr. Destler is a strange, strange man.

Music theory class today was a nightmare.

When I walked into the classroom, I said hello to him, and even made an attempt at a friendly smile, but he kept his eyes trained on the wall next to me, and acted just as if I were invisible. He continued to blatantly ignore me during the rest of the class, even when I raised my hand. By the end of the class, I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

I was exiting the room when he stopped me with a cold glare from those winter blue eyes of his that have the same paralyzing effect as those of a crocodile. He said in this very low, very quiet voice:

"I expect to see you here after school."

I nodded, and ran out of the room.

Needless to say, I wasn't very eager to go to my voice lesson.

After 9th, I walked to the classroom like a condemned man to the gallows, humming Chopin's "Funeral March".

I very slowly walked in, with my head down.

I stopped in front of Mr. Destler, and then just stood there and stared at my feet, bracing myself for the yelling that was sure to come.

When he finally spoke, his voice had a metallic edge:

"Who was that boy?"

I'd expected a scolding for standing him up, but not this.

"Raoul - he's just one of my friends..."

"'Just one of your friends'? Are you sure? When a girl misses a lesson just because some _**boy **_asked her to go get frozen yogurt - I mean, come on, _frozen yogurt_!- with him, it's because she sees him as more than 'just one of her friends'."

"I -... What does it matter to you? Even if I _did_ like Raoul, it would be none of your business!"

"Oh, but it is my business! It is my business - as your teacher - to make sure that you, my student, remain on the right path, and are not distracted by such inconvenient things as boys! Now, tell me, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you like that Raoul boy?"

"Why do you care?"

"Why do I care?"

"Yes."

"Well, I - ... Ms. Daaé, let us go back to what we were discussing before. From now on, you will not spend any time with that boy. I will _not_ have him get in the way of your career."

"What career? And Raoul is most definitely _not_ a distraction."

"But he did make you miss your lesson yesterday?"

"Well, yes, but that isn't -..."

"Good, I think we understand each other. Now, let us sing. We still have to make up for yesterday."

The rest of the class was tense, but then, as I was about to leave, he told me that he would bring a duet for us to sing tomorrow, which kind of cheered me up.

You know, I don't _really_ have to ignore Raoul. I can still talk to him in the hallway, and hang out with him on the weekends (if he wants to) and all that, just as long as Mr. Destler isn't there.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

Mr. Destler would be the Angel of Music, if there was such a thing.

He brought a duet today, just like he said he would.

"'La ci darem la mano'? I love that song! From 'Don Giovanni', right?"

"Yes - I'm glad you like it."

"The funny thing about it is, it sounds so romantic, but Don Giovanni really is just trying to bed the girl."

Mr. Destler cleared his throat.

"Well, there aren't all that many romantic duets for soprano and baritone, are there?"

"Oh, you're a baritone! - No, I guess there aren't. Baritones only get to be villains, old men, fathers, and incarnations of the devil, so the tenors invariably get the girl. Which isn't fair for the sopranos. I mean, baritones are almost always better looking than the tenors, so it kind of gets ridiculous sometimes, to the point where you start wondering why Tosca likes Cavaradossi so much when she could have _Scarpia_."

He let out a small, not-so-cheerful laugh.

"But not all baritones are handsome."

"I guess not..."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"But cheer up! _You_ get to sing all of Schubert's lieder, and the tenors don't. Well, Ian Bostridge does, but that's beside the point."

I felt, rather than saw his smile.

He played the opening bars, then began to sing.

His voice was so smooth, so rich, so perfect, so _everything_ that I missed my entrance.

"Oh! I'm sorry..."

I began to sing too. The whole experience was just unbelievable. I know I already said this, but his voice is _perfect_. By the time we were done, I was dreamy, and dizzy, and my face was probably flushed. It took me a good minute to figure out that I should probably break eye contact and say something.

"Mr. Destler, you have the most beautiful voice!"

"You're very kind."

After a pause, I asked:

"Where did you learn?"

"I didn't really learn... I guess Mother Nature was trying to compensate for something."

"Don't say that!"

"Let's talk about something else."

The end of the class was slightly awkward.


	10. Chapter 10

**Again, thanks to everyone who reviewed! :)**

**Artemis Phantomhive: I have seen the Royal Albert Hall production, but I have to confess that I didn't especially like Ramin Karimloo's singing, or Sierra Boggess's for that matter. Her high notes didn't sound so good. However, this is only my personal opinion, and everyone else seems to love them. Have you seen John Cudia's phantom? He's really good.**

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

Raoul almost asked me out today! I just wish I could take the "almost" out of the sentence.

We were walking together to our next class, and were about to part ways, when he said "Wait," in an unusually serious voice.

"Yes?" I suddenly felt nervous.

"Um, Christine... I just wanted to say something... You don't have to say yes, but -... I just wanted to say that... well... you're very pretty, and I, um, was wondering if you'd like to, well, to -..."

"Hey Raoul! You're gonna be late!" yelled one of his friend.

Raoul looked down, blushing, then looked up again, started nodding at me for no apparent reason, and then walked away briskly.

Hopefully, if I can get him alone and I smile at him encouragingly, he will finish his sentence. Maybe tomorrow?

If this were a fictional story, I guess you could say that my umbrella is a plot device.

I forgot my umbrella at home today (again!), and it was raining really heavily. I realized this at the end of my lesson, and it made the perspective of walking home very unpleasant. I was probably making a face, because Mr. Destler asked: "Is there anything wrong?"

"Oh, no. Well, not really - I just realized I don't have my umbrella, and I have to walk home. But it's fine, really. I don't live all that far, and a little soak is not going to kill me."

After a short silence, he offered in a quiet voice:

"Well, I have my umbrella, and - I could walk you home. That is, if you don't mind?"

"That's very kind of you, but you really don't have to go through the trouble. I'll be okay."

"Oh, but I insist! You might catch a cold, and that would be _very_ bad for your voice."

"Oh, alright then. Thank you so much!"

When we got outside, he opened his umbrella, and tentatively offered me his arm. I took it. The material of his vest was soft, but his arm underneath was surprisingly bony. When I think about it, that was probably the first time we made any physical contact. We silently walked, the rain softly drumming on the cloth of the umbrella with invisible fingers, and the gravel crackling under our feet.

When we got to my house, I suddenly felt nervous about my father seeing us, but no one was at the window.

I thanked Mr. Destler, then quickly went inside.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

Today, towards the end of my lesson, Mr. Destler asked me:

"Ms. Daaé, have you ever been to the opera?"

"Yes, but I was four at the time, so I'm afraid I wasn't able to enjoy it properly. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I seem to have accidently bought an extra ticket for an upcoming production, and it's non-refundable, so... I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

I was a bit taken aback, but Mr. Destler was looking at me quite earnestly.

"It's very nice of you to ask, but I couldn't possibly! Are you sure you can't resell the ticket?"

"Quite sure. Also, I thought it would be a good experience for you."

"What opera are the tickets for ?"

"'The Tales of Hoffmann'."

This happens to be my favorite opera. I really wanted to go, but I felt uneasy about the whole idea of going to the opera with Mr. Destler and about having to lie to my dad about whom I was going with. (He would most certainly _not_ let me go if I told him I was going alone with one of my male teachers.)

"I... don't know. What day would it be?"

"Friday next week, at six. You would go home to change directly after school, and I would pick you up at five."

His stare was starting to make me fidgety.

"I... Alright. Thank you."

I froze. I couldn't believe I'd agreed so readily, but I couldn't take my words back. I couldn't think of an excuse. My uneasiness began to grow, but then I thought: "I'm not doing anything wrong. I am _not_ going to feel guilty about going to the opera with a perfectly nice and well-intentioned teacher when some people in my class brag about skipping class to do drugs. Lying to my dad is a necessary evil, and he really doesn't care about what I do anyway. Also, I'll probably enjoy myself very much, and I can't possibly think of becoming an opera singer without ever having seen an opera."

On my way home, I thought of what I would tell my dad.

He was sitting in armchair, reading a newspaper, when I decided it was the perfect moment to talk to him.

"Oh, Papa?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm going to the opera Friday, next week."

"Really? Whom are you going with?"

"My music theory class - it's a field trip."

"Oh. How much do I have to pay?"

"Don't worry about that - the Lyric Opera sent our school free tickets."

"That's nice. Friday, next week, you said?"

"Yes."

"Well, have a good time. You've always liked opera, haven't you?"

"Yes."

He went back to reading is newspaper. I felt a little sick because of my lie, but quickly got over the feeling by eating chocolate. Professor Lupin was right.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi everyone! I'm going away for two weeks, and I won't be able to update during that time. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)**

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

I had a _wonderful_ time at the opera.

Yesterday evening, I hadn't decided what dress I would wear yet, and I was feeling slightly panicky.

I'd told Mr. Destler to pick me up at the corner of my street, instead of in front of my house - that was so my dad wouldn't see him, but I didn't tell him this. However, I still felt nervous about one of the neighbors seeing us and getting the wrong impression.

It's only this morning that I decided what I would wear: a simple blue dress, modest but flattering, and elegant enough. With this, I would wear a black cardigan and black flats (I'm tall enough as it is).

Apparently, this must have been a good choice, because when Mr. Destler stepped out of his car to open the door for me, he stopped in his tracks, and just stood there for a moment, looking at me, and then said in the softest voice: "You look nice in that dress."

Now, I realize that " you look nice" isn't the biggest of compliments, but the way he said it made me blush more than if someone else had called me "stunning" or "gorgeous" - maybe because of the way he's always so serious, and rarely gives out any praise. Anyway, that small compliment made me immensely happy.

When we were both comfortably seated in the car with our seatbelts buckled up, he put on the radio. After a few minutes, I became very grateful for the radio, because it made the lack of conversation less awkward. Mr. Destler's car was really nice, but it felt somewhat impersonal, and it was a bit chilly in there. It felt very strange to be riding alone with a teacher, even if it _was_ Mr. Destler.

We got to the opera house sometime around 5:30.

I'd seen the building many times, but never entered it, and it was grander and more beautiful than anything I'd imagined. I walked up the grand staircase holding onto Mr. Destler's arm. Everything glimmered and shined around us, just like in a dream. I almost felt like a princess, silly as that sounds.

Mr. Destler also looked quite dashing in his suit. I was afraid that people would stare at his mask, but no one seemed to question it, thank goodness.

We had seats on the main floor, in the front. I didn't dare imagine how much the tickets must have costed. I suddenly felt ashamed about not having at least offered to pay for mine - high school teachers don't make all that much -, but then quickly chased the thought. Mr. Destler had seemed quite happy to give me the ticket for free, and he probably would have been offended if I'd offered to pay for it. I decided to avoid thinking too much, and to enjoy the evening while it lasted. Which is exactly what I did.

The opera itself was splendid, and I especially liked the singer who was playing Lindorf/Coppelius/Miracle/Dapertutto. His characterization was really good, and he had a laugh worhy of a Disney villain. And of course, everyone's singing was simply amazing. It's a shame Offenbach didn't write any other real operas - he mainly wrote operettas. This one is _really_ good.

Mr. Destler was a bit more relaxed than usual. He laughed during all the funny parts, and was especially nice to me during the two intermissions. For once, he was almost cheerful.

When the whole thing was over, he drove me home. The drive back was much less awkward, and we chatted the whole time. Mr. Destler told me that one day, _I_ would be the one singing Antonia on that stage. I couldn't see that happening anytime soon, but I was still awfully glad.

When we got to my house, I thanked him, and I would have given him a hug if he weren't my teacher.

When I got inside, most of the lights were off, and I was relieved to see that my dad was already sleeping.

What a great - no, wonderful - night! The only thing that could make me happier than I already am would be Raoul asking me out sometime soon.


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does._

Dear Diary,

I have both very good and very bad news.

The good news first: Raoul likes me! As in, likes me in a non-exclusively-friendly way. He asked me out today! Officially! I was jumping with joy and grinning at everyone like an idiot and so happy I couldn't breathe until - the bad news.

The bad news: Mr. Destler hates me. 

This morning, as we were hurrying to chemistry class, Raoul suddenly stopped walking and grabbed my arm. I was going to ask him what the matter was, when he said "Christine" in an oddly serious voice. I looked up at him to see that he was looking at me quite earnestly.

"Yes?" I asked, my voice quivering slightly.

The hallway we were standing in the middle of was strangely and conveniently empty. The bell would ring in just a few seconds. "Get on with it!" my mind screamed at Raoul, who was now hesitating. Finally, he spoke:

"Christine, I like you very much. Very, very much."

His eyes, always the same impossible shade of blue, were fixed upon mine.

I couldn't talk, so I just smiled as expressively as I could. Raoul smiled too, looking very happy and relieved.

He leaned in, and - the bell rang!

We ran to chemistry class, grinning all the way.

When we walked into the classroom late, there was an awkward silence and everyone just kind of stared at us while we beamed at them like they were presents on Christmas morning. The teacher didn't even tell us to get tardy passes.

When I walked into Mr. Destler's classroom after 9th, I was still feeling light and giddy ; I was walking on the moon, just like in the song.

As could be expected, Mr. Destler noticed.

"What is the reason for that smile, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, it's -... nothing, really. I'm just terribly happy!"

"Well, it can't be the prospect of doing all that homework I assigned that's making you so 'terribly happy', now can it?"

He said that in such a friendly, good-humored tone that I let my guards down.

"You remember Raoul?"

"Yes."

"Well - he asked me out!"

He didn't say anything, so I went on.

"Oh, I know it sounds very silly, and that this can't possibly be of any interest to you, but you did ask!"

I smiled at him, and waited for him to tease me about acting like the lovestruck teenager that I was, or something like that, but no reply came. Instead, he just stared at his hands.

I opened my mouth to change subjects, but he spoke first:

"What did I tell you about talking to that boy?"

His voice was like ice.

"I know, I know, but I didn't think you were serious about -"

"I was!"

I said, as coldly as I could:

"You, sir, are not my father."

"Father? No indeed!"

"Well, then."

I thought that that would be the end of that, but he spoke again.

"What is so wonderful about that boy, anyway? I didn't think that you would be the kind of girl to become besotted with the first blonde poseur to show an interest in you."

"Why exactly are you being so unpleasant?"

"You deliberately disobeyed my orders!"

"Orders? You have no orders to give me concerning my private life!"

"Oh, really? I'll let you know that -..."

"Sir!"

He paused.

"I've always stayed out of your private affairs, and I'll ask you to do the same. Now, how would you like it if I started asking you personal questions? "What's up with the mask," for example?"

I shouldn't have said that.

His hand shot up to his mask and his eyes widened.

After a terrible silence, he spoke.

His voice was quiet and shaky, and there was something painful about the way his words came out, like it was difficult for him to speak:

"Please leave."

I wanted to say something, but instead I picked up my backpack and left without a word.

As I walked home, my concern for him was mixed with anger at him for ruining my good mood. How dare he make me sad on the happiest day of my life!

I felt like Hermione after Ron had been mean to her at the Yule ball. Yes, that's a very good analogy. That would make Raoul Viktor Krum and Mr. Destler... Ron, I guess? Except Mr. Destler couldn't possibly have acted out of jealousy - what an absurd idea!


End file.
